


Between Two Points

by doctor_jasley



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Case Fic, M/M, Science Fantasy, Science Fiction, oc kidnapping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-16
Updated: 2013-12-16
Packaged: 2018-01-04 19:23:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1084796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctor_jasley/pseuds/doctor_jasley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In all of their years of being partners, Agents Wentz and Stump have never once had to pretend to date to complete a job. So, of course, there comes a day where a case forces them to do just that. Patrick doesn't know how he feels about this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Between Two Points

**Author's Note:**

  * For [girlpearl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlpearl/gifts).



> Title is from a Glitch Mob Song.
> 
> I tried really hard to write pure space but ended up with more sci-fi, kinda space than anything else.

Lights flash in time to pulsing music, colors dissolving into one another at a dizzying rate. Bodies sway against each other. It’s an insane crush of humanity that leaves barely a sliver of space to slip through when all that’s left to work with are the thrumming walls and a millimeter of floor before someone’s head or arm is blocking any forward motion.

 

These are the days Patrick wonders why he signed up for the Anomaly Department instead of going into a safer occupation, like say audio filtering. Whoever’s mixing this glitch of a rave obviously doesn’t care for quality over quantity. It’s grating. If he doesn’t finish this case with a throbbing headache, it’ll be a miracle.

 

One of the ravers loses their balance, tilting dangerously toward the wall before a knee buckles. Patrick slides a fraction of a second to the left and keeps her from falling. She doesn’t even blink; her eyes are glassy and she shows signs of exhaustion coupled with dehydration. 

 

This is why Patrick and Pete are here. A few hours ago a teenager was transferred from the district precinct’s hands to theirs. The kid was severely malnourished, suffering from sleep deprivation and a laundry list of Dancing Death symptoms. 

 

It took over thirty minutes with medics Urie, Ross, and Smith before Matt could form coherent sentences, let alone rattle off an address for an illegal rave. Usually, Pied Pipers are kept under lock-and-key for everyone’s safety. Including the piper, or in this case, DJ.

 

However, that’s not always the reality. It’s highly possible to slip under the radar if you know what you’re doing. That’s Patrick’s guess. Pete, on the other hand, bet a hundred credits on the DJ being another teenager who doesn’t know he’s manifested. 

 

Not that Pete’s going to win or lose credits; Patrick refuses to bet against him. It’s rare that he’ll throw in on a wager and it’s even rarer for Pete to set stakes with the other agents. All it took was losing against Asher and Saporta _once_ to stop that spiral before it could ever get out of hand.

 

That doesn’t include the medic team. Pete has and _does_ bet with them, but only when it comes to celebs and popular cultural trends. Ross and Smith get scowly if cases are brought into the equation. Pete calls them broken loops when they shut down the wagers with only a look and then Patrick has to hear about it for the rest of the day, until he imagines throttling Pete to get him to shut up.

 

The beat pumping through badly set-up speakers speeds into a tripping staccato. Patrick pauses in the act of checking the fallen raver’s vitals with his handheld to rub at his temples with gloved fingers. Pipers, Banshees, Sirens, and the like are bitches to contain. It takes a hell of a lot of energy to consciously filter out the subliminal auditory cues to dance, and dance, and _dance_.

 

But it’s possible. More so for Pete and Patrick than Gabe and Vicky-T or Travie and William. Patrick’s still not exactly _sure_ how he’s capable of withstanding compulsions. He’s stopped trying to analyze it. Especially since Pete winds himself up over potentially manifesting as _something_ any fucking time he displays a new immunity. 

 

Why bother teething on bald wires when Pete already does that shit enough for them both? Anyway, it’s a fucking moot point, all Anomaly Department agents are immune to a few things or another. Hell, to even be recruited for medstaff, you have to have at least _one_ immunity. It doesn’t make a person any more or less probable to manifest _F. T._ behavior.

 

A name flashes across Patrick’s visor display while he goes back to work, moving the raver so she’s leaning against the wall: _Maria Langly, twenty-one, masters applicant at Wilby Technical Institution for the Gifted._ The wonders of having DNA scans on his handheld means Patrick can identify a victim quicker than taking time out of his objectives to search for I.D. 

 

Maria vainly struggles to re-enter the mass of bodies when the music picks up again. Patrick slips a Calmer Patch out of one of his pockets, shaking it thrice to activate the non-harmful chemical compound that should keep Maria safe from herself. She instantly sags against the wall when the patch sticks to the side of her neck.

 

Patrick pulls out two Shield Sticks. They easily bind to the floor on either side of Maria’s scuffed Digital Dan sneakers. A quick tap to the touch pad on the top of each stick activates a barrier. It’s basically a tiny box to keep Maria from being crushed or trampled if things go wrong and the crowd reacts badly to being unplugged from the _Dance’s_ thrall. 

 

Once Maria’s safe, Patrick plasters himself against the wall and begins his trek to the other side of the underground room. He tracks the moment of the ravers on one corner of his visor, calculating the possibility of more rescues while also pinpointing where Pete is. Communication has been cut down to visor feeds because it’s loud and the headsets can only boost audio so much before the music drowns everything out. Not to mention, there’s no telling what a signal broadcast from the sets would do in relation to the subliminals attached to the music.

 

It’s best to play it safe, not endanger countless lives over something stupid.

 

By the time the makeshift DJ booth comes into sight, Patrick’s running low on Shield Sticks. He secures David Alee and feels along his side for the Jam Distort Bug he made damn sure to grab before they left headquarters. Once the tiny, button device is found, Patrick’s visor shows a line of direction from Pete.

 

Syncing feeds with Pete takes all of three seconds. Then Pete goes up to talk sense into the DJ while Patrick slips through a gap in the booth’s unfinished structure to place the JDB. At first the music slows, then it cracks and splinters with static drowning out the thup thup thup of a dying bassline. 

 

Once there’s nothing but an eerie quiet, punctuated only with heavy breathing from the stilling crowd, Patrick finds the speaker switch and activates it. He very _calmly_ informs the crowd to just stay steady, emergency personnel will be in shortly to help them. No one snaps. As a collective whole, the crowd nods. 

 

It’s creepy as hell but Patrick’s already starting to feel the adrenaline in his system fading. The case is nearly over. Anyone who needs to be taken to a hospital will be transferred there. Specialists will follow up for statements. There’s not much left for them to do.

 

Pete smiles at Patrick over the shoulder of the DJ. The guy’s already slumped into Pete’s grip on the tension cuffs. _Adrea Kurt, nineteen_ pops up on the left corner of Patrick’s visor right before he disengages it. 

 

With only his glasses to see through, the room’s dimmer. Patrick rolls his shoulders and helps Pete escort the stumbling Piper to the specialists waiting for them at the base of the grav lift.

 

“It’s clear. The guys down there could use a little assistance of the medical kind, though.” Pete claps Ryan on the shoulder as soon as Adrea is passed off.

 

Patrick sighs.

 

“I’m sending over my specs on layout, including those we saved.”

 

Brendon nods. “Thanks, Patrick.”

 

Then the whole medic team’s fanning out with their equipment to treat the afflicted. Patrick finishes sending his gathered intel to Brendon’s handheld and then transfers all data to headquarters. If they’re lucky, the Director won’t want to see them for a few days.

 

Pete comes up to Patrick and drapes an arm across his shoulders. 

 

“Boss man says we can catch some _zzz’s_ , virtual or literal, this weekend. I’m thinking about goin’ up to the North Deck.”

 

Patrick engages the grav lift. He blinks and they’re back to ground level. A shower and spending the weekend in bed sounds like a good idea to him. Not that Pete has the wrong idea with the North Deck. It’s beautiful there.

 

In the distance, you can see massive trees pressing against the confides of the dome’s glass. Right above the deck is clear during _night_ and all that can be seen are the glittering of stars, pulsars, and the cluster of nebuli several light years away that keep the _sky_ from being devoid of color.

 

When Patrick’s at city-level, he _forgets_ that the Terra Nuevara station is nothing more than a man-made planet with no sun, where everything is either simulated or controlled. For example, rain is regulated and comes from collecting condensation and recycled water. There’s not a thing on or in Nuevara that can’t be reused or repurposed.

 

“A hot shower and three days of sleep sounds like a better plan.” Patrick’s always been practical.

 

Pete nudges Patrick’s arm with his while they walk to their vehicle. “That’s boring. There’s room for two at the deck.”

 

For all that Pete and Patrick work well together, Patrick _always_ declines the offer. The North Deck, while stunning with the views, is also a local romance spot. Pete might claim Patrick’s his soul mate, but they’ve never done anything, and they never will, if Patrick has anything to say about it.

 

It’s safer if they don’t try. For one, Pete and relationships are rocky. Patrick’s witnessed enough to know that path is perilous. That’s not adding in Patrick’s own quirks that make dating impossible. 

 

Secondly, they’re both married to the job. Patrick doesn’t want to ruin a perfectly good working relationship with _strings_ for no damn reason. Also Pete tends to get obsessive about things and never really _knows_ if he’s actually invested or not. Patrick doesn’t want to be just a passing fancy.

 

So yeah, Patrick declines Pete’s offer. “I’m sure there is, but my bed is more alluring, sorry, Pete.”

 

To his credit, Pete only smiles and tries to steal Patrick’s fragmentation glasses before calling him an old man. When they get to the hover car, Pete disengages the locks and they get in.

 

It’s a quick drive to Patrick’s apartment. Pete asks one last time if Patrick wants to go with him instead. At the _no_ , he shrugs and waves before driving away.

 

The weekend is blissful. Patrick sleeps, catches up on emails he hasn’t had time to reply to since they’ve been working a string of cases nonstop the past three weeks. After that, he cleans while he video calls his folks on Terra Verde. Then it’s back to sleeping.

 

At some point, he and Pete have a mobile battle over classic narratives in cinema feeds. Patrick ends up shoving his mobile in a cabinet for an hour when Pete claims that Noir Funk isn’t a genre. The hell it isn’t.

 

When Monday rolls around, Patrick’s loose and relaxed, ready to start a new work week. Pete picks him up a block from his apartment. Patrick has breakfast and low-regulation caf with him. Pete complains about the low-reg but doesn’t press about stopping from something a little more caffeinated. Which is good, Pete needs to be more conscious of what he eats and drinks. He won’t stay in peak physical condition forever.

 

The moment they make it to their desks to start browsing through recent files, William knocks on the edge of the transparent partition that separates their desks from his and Travie’s area.

 

“You guys have a case. The information’s been sent to your inbox. The Director wants to see you when you’re finished reading through the files.”

 

Patrick glances over at Pete before pulling out his chair, bringing up his inbox with a few taps, and beginning to read. The South Quadrant Precinct is reaching out for support on an ongoing investigation into the disappearance of young women in the area. They’ve been following leads for months with no breaks, until recently, when the last victim was taken.

 

“They think they have a Beauty Queen. How is that possible? I didn’t think Queens existed here. I can understand Verde, but the city is _bigger_ than the forest. Queens need lush kingdoms to rule.”

 

Pete takes a sip from his cup. “I mean it’s possible, just because Nuevara is more industrial than Verde doesn’t mean Queens can’t find a way to gain power.”

 

Which is true. Ever since humanity began evolving and the Terras were formed, it’s been proven time and time again that anomalies can and _do_ find ways to survive without being suppressed. 

 

Patrick lifts his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. “We could be looking at a potential transplant. Verde and Nuevara have been trading for decades. There’s always a steady stream of ex-pats settling down away from _home_.”

 

Pete nods. “Could be.” Then he stands, dragging his inbox to the side of the desk monitor and minimizing it. “But we won’t know until the Boss Man gives us more details.” 

 

Patrick closes out of his inbox and stands. “They wouldn’t be calling us in on this if they didn’t have _any_ intel.”

 

Which is true, the southern districts and their law enforcement rarely reach out for assistance with anomalies. However, when they do need to borrow agents, they’re very forthcoming with information, unlike the Western Quadrant. No one wants to get Patrick into a rant over the westies and their stubborn streak.

 

Or their rampant stationism. They’re staunchly Nuevaraites. If you’re from Verde, Terra Lumara, or Terra Ciel, then you’re either going to pack up and move your ass to another cluster of districts or suffer through their asshole-tendencies. If you ask Patrick, it’s not worth it.

 

But then, when he moved from Verde to Nuevera as a department transfer, Patrick wasn’t planning on settling anywhere _not_ in the central districts. So it’s not like he had to worry. Until, his first case with the Western Precinct happened.

 

Needless to say, that went over _real_ twitchily _well_. Pete and Patrick weren’t new partners then, but they also weren’t as set in their ways as they are now. No one knew what to expect as a backlash. Patrick was professional of course. Pete was the one who surprisingly snapped and threatened to have the whole glitching precinct written up for bigotry.

 

That was one of those moments Patrick can mentally scroll back to and recognize as a turning point in their partnership. Where he and Pete officially began to gel the way agent pairs should. A happy side-effect to the whole debacle ended up being that William and Travis get the W Q files if cases from there filter into the department.

 

The Director’s office door slides open when Patrick and Pete get there. Patrick raps on the opaque glass to the right of the door to announce their presence. 

 

“Come in. Sit.”

 

The door slides closed with a soft, pneumatic hiss. Patrick takes the chair to the left, while Pete takes the one on the right.

 

“Wentz, Stump.” The Director nods in greeting. “It’s good to see you two looking less grim. Thursday’s assignment was wrapped up nicely. Specialist Agura and her team are pleased with all evidence that was obtained at the scene. Standup job, once again.”

 

Patrick nods in time with Pete and waits. They weren’t called in for a pat on the back. 

 

“William said you had a new case for us, Boss.” Leave it to Pete to break the silence first.

 

Patrick’s mused from time to time that the Director takes long pauses on purpose, just to see who will get the figurative ball rolling quicker. With Vicky-T and Gabe it’s _always_ Gabe and with William and Travie, everyone waits until the Director gives up. There was once a time, when everyone went out for drinks together, where Patrick and Vicky-T spiraled into comparing the collective amount of seconds it took for either Pete or Gabe to _ask_ for case specifics.

 

That was a fun night, even if Patrick had a hangover the first hour after he woke up the next morning. 

 

“Gentlemen, the southies are working on building a case against one of the biggest heads of Ox Industries over the subsequent disappearance of teenagers between the ages of fourteen and twenty. However, they have no concrete evidence to support their hypothesis that the chairwoman has done anything untoward, and the company is heavily entrenched with the local precincts as is, so an undercover operation from any enforcement individual has to be done out of house.”

 

Pete leans forward in his chair. “If chairwoman Octavia Wildermin _is_ a Beauty Queen, wouldn’t she just murder the teenagers and let enforcement officers find the bodies? Maybe they have the wrong F. T. profile.”

 

Which is a valid point. On Verde, it’s obvious when the forest biomes have Queen problems, the bodies of young women tend to be found regularly until the suspect is apprehended and locked away by specialists. If Octavia Wildermin isn’t leaving a trail of bodies around the recycled oxygen empire buildings in the south, then she has another M. O. or she’s not the culprit.

 

Any number of anomalies enjoy kidnapping. Patrick sighs when the Director nods. 

 

“It is highly possible that the missing teenagers fall under a different Snatch Category, but initial reports seem to implicate Wildermin more directly than any other preliminary suspect. The southies have secured two tickets to Ox Industries’ annual winter gala. They’ve asked the department for assistance. You’ll be picked up in the morning by a representative of Helix Cooperative. The gala’s the day after tomorrow, and the precinct is expecting intell directly after.”

 

Patrick adjusts his glasses. “So, we’re going undercover as representatives of Helix Coop?”

 

It’s the logical conclusion to make. Helix has its fingers in _everything_ it can get its hands on anything in the North and the East, including the department. The ready supply of revenue keeps R &D running and pays for medical equipment that the annual budget can’t be siphoned to. It makes sense that Helix would want to learn more about a southern empire as on-the-rise as Ox Industries is.

 

“Something like that. All the information will be downloaded to your profiles as soon as you leave the office. You’re not expected to stay at headquarters corroborating an air-tight backstory. Go home, brainstorm, and I will see you two on Friday if all goes well. Good luck and happy hunting.”

 

Pete nods while Patrick restrains himself from asking even more questions. He’s curious as to why the Director chose them for this case. Sure, he has ideas, but speculation isn’t truth.

 

“Thank you, sir.” 

 

When they leave, Patrick grabs Pete’s arm and drags him to the bathroom. He checks the stalls for people before keying in a lock code on the door. “You didn’t ask nearly enough questions, Pete. What’s going on? We’re not normally slated for undercover cases.” 

 

Pete watches Patrick. “Wentz Op. owns shares in Helix.” 

 

That’s all he says.

 

There’s no explanation, only a statement. 

 

Patrick blinks and rubs a hand down the side of his face. Pete’s family actually owns fifty-five percent of all Helix Cooperative shares. They have trustee strings in everything Helix does. Patrick tends to forget that little byte because Pete might publicly be one of the younger faces of Wentz Op. but behind the scenes he’s been shuffled off to agent work as a way to conceal his growing list of immunities for so long that he’s more agent than businessman.

 

It’s a good thing Pete enjoys being an agent who isn’t easily recognized for his enforcement. It’s admittedly a good cover, sending Pete in as a shareholding looking into adding to Helix Coop’s monetary connections.

 

“I’m not going to like where this is going, am I?”

 

Pete smiles at Patrick. “It’s almost as if you’ve never wanted to have a rich boyfriend.” Then he’s clapping Patrick on the shoulder saying, “I’ll be waiting in the lot, we’ll go get lunch at Lucio’s, my treat, and then we’ll make shit up,” before breaking Patrick’s lock code on the door keypad so he can leave.

 

Patrick finds himself alone staring at his reflection in the anti-blur mirror. “This is not what I meant when I said I wanted to settle down.” 

 

He sighs one last time before fixing his hair and going out to make sure Pete hasn’t done anything stupid while he’s been waiting. If he’s thought up a ridiculous cover story for how he and Patrick met and subsequently fell in love then Patrick can’t be held accountable for his resulting actions.

 

Patrick reads through their updated profile documents while he eats. Pete’s doing the same. They have cartons of take-out spread out between them in Pete’s apartment while the lumino computer glass throws text down the screen.

 

“I don’t care what you’re thinking, but you are _not_ to breathe a word to this to your parents, or their public relations team. We’re a _new_ couple and I’m not a fan of _celebrity_. The only reason you talked me into this is because you’re adorable when you want to make a good impression, and who would turn down going to an expensive party.”

 

Pete laughs at Patrick’s ire. “I don’t know, Trick. I think my parents already know about you. It’s not like you haven’t been over for private family dinners when they wanted to vet your partner-y-nes. They like you. Sol knows they’d fucking throw you the most expensive party ever if you decided to marry my ass.”

 

And that is one of the reasons Patrick has to keep his distance. Pete says shit like this that makes Patrick _wonder_ , but then he makes jokes about it. There’s no way Pete can be serious, so Patrick can’t take him at face value. 

 

“Good to know.” Patrick reads over more random stock facts he might need to know if he’s supposed to be a company number man. Sometimes Patrick hates that he started out as an accounting major in academy before he decided to go into agent work. Even then, Patrick’s official transcripts show that he went from the academy to accounting at a precinct before transferring to Nuevera to work in accounting there.

 

It’s almost as if, since the beginning, Patrick’s been set-up the same as Pete. One occupation buried under another. Back when he first moved from Verde to Nuevera, Patrick didn’t particularly care. He just wanted to be an agent with an _actual_ partner.

 

Then he was put with Pete after transferring. And for all the times Patrick does twitch-out, there’s more moments where he secretly thanks the match algorithms for working their magic. Before Pete, Verde didn’t think there would be anyone who could fit Patrick and his multiple immunities. 

 

“Also, I want it clearly noted that I am not one of your family’s employees. I work for Helix and you just happened to bumble your way into my good graces from being too cute.”

 

Patrick doesn’t want to be talked down to. He hates it. Not that he thinks chairwoman Wildermin or her people will do so seeing as she’s Verdeian and seems to have a kinship with all transplants. But, just to be safe, Patrick isn’t going to let Pete and his name overshadow anything.

 

Pete sets down his carton of Daily Special and plasters himself against Patrick’s shoulder. “That’s the second time you’ve used a term of endearment. I think we’re going to really enjoy being boyfriends, Trick. It’s going to be so much fun.”

 

Patrick shoves at Pete’s shoulder. “If you smother me, there won’t be any false boyfriend for you to pose with for this case, so I advise that you back up.”

 

Pete frowns but doesn’t needle Patrick anymore.

 

They spend the rest of the evening inventing a believable story about their _relationship_. The fabrication will work, mostly because it’s ninety percent truth. The only glaring falsities being that Pete and Patrick are both active agents _and_ they’re not dating. And those bytes won’t be visible if they do their jobs right.

 

It’s late when Pete brings Patrick back to his apartment. After their brainstorming session, Patrick had to go by his own apartment for overnight supplies. It was decided that they presented a better picture if picked up together than the driver from Helix having to pick up Patrick after Pete.

 

Instead of going over more intel on the case, they end up talking. Pete asks for more Kitchen Tales from Verde and Patrick thinks of the Envy Wizard his mother would caution him about when he was little. How the wizard was the son of a witch who ate vanity and envy until it turned their skin the color of forest moss. How the wizard grew to be as feared as his mother by taking children who held jealousy in their heart against others.

 

In return, Pete digs up the frightening tale of a grieving Machine Maker who turned his whole family into animations that could not survive without Sol. And then, because the sun was so far away, the Machine Maker invented his own Sol and put it into orbit, only to scorch the landscape.

 

Both stories are a mixture of old-wives tales and reality. There’s a reason the Terras’ call those with uncontrollable anomalies F. T.s. Officially, they’re coined Fairy Tale anomalies. After the first violent anomaly on Ciel was cited as a Gingerbread Baker who used structures made from cookies to lure people near so as the Baker could snare them for more baking much the same way the witch on Terra Firma Antiquity did with the brave youths Gretel and Hansel. 

 

Patrick falls asleep on Pete’s couch near the end of the Electric Man tale and wakes up the next morning to what smells like high-reg caf being waved in front of his face. 

 

“Good morning. We have coffee. Nate brought it, along with our suits for the party tomorrow. Today, we only have to go for warmly-toned business casual. None of the droll department-regulated shades.”

 

Patrick looks at his coffee before slowly snagging it from Pete and taking a sip. Yeah, it’s definitely not low-reg. “Nate knows not to pick up highly-caffeinated beverages. You don’t need the extra energy.”

 

Pete hand waves, one hand holding Patrick’s fragmentation glasses. “You need to freshen up. We have a schedule that I know you’ve memorized.”

 

Patrick snags his glasses with his free hand. “Don’t nag. I know when we have to leave by, and don’t think I won’t remind Nate about your caffeine limits.”

 

Patrick spends his efficient shower time thinking about random things, including how Pete’s family seems to pull strings everywhere. Nate used to be Pete’s driver, but when Pete was officially shuffled to the Anomaly Department, he was transferred to work as a driver and intermediary for Helix’s dealings with Wentz Operations. Even if he still picks up a few jobs chauffeuring Pete around the districts with his date of the time or Patrick when he’s invited to family dinners.

 

Dressing is a quick affair. One Patrick doesn’t think as much about beyond how much he likes Pete’s master bathroom. He could get used to staying here. And no. Patrick’s going to stop right there.

 

Nate fills them in on Helix Coop gossip while they travel southward. It’s mid-evening before they’re even to the toll station that separates South districts from Central districts. Patrick’s in the back of the grav car with Pete watching the landscape change from one type of aging metal to another. Occasionally, a glimpse of flora will peek through the metallics.

 

Patrick rarely misses Verde. But he does become desensitized to the metal giants that rise up to the dome ceiling everywhere but in the North and extreme South-East. A little byte of greenery is like a flash of home that helps his mood instead of hindering.

 

Pete’s been taking this opportunity to lean against Patrick as often as he wants. He’s already a naturally tactile person, especially with close friends. Patrick’s just trying his best to mentally keep his personal lines up so he doesn’t forget that.

 

This isn’t a real relationship. They’re only partners and best friends. Nothing more.

 

When they get to Ox Industries, it’s late evening, the manufactured lighting beginning to dim. They’re given a tour of the main mechanical plant after their credentials are triple-checked. Then they’re introduced to the head of oxygen manufacturing.

 

They’re informed that the chairwoman wants to meet with them, but that she got called away on official business. More likely than not, it’s something to do with the company gala that will also be hosting the heads of other prominent businesses, both local and out-of-district.

 

The head foreman rattles off stats on production levels. He proudly states that the facility has the highest O2 output of all of the plants. He walks them through the levels for an hour, more stats rolling off his tongue as they go.

 

Patrick pays as much attention as he can. However, that’s hard to accomplish when Pete insists on holding Patrick’s hand the whole twitching time. Hell, it’s not even like Patrick’s had this secret fantasy of holding Pete’s hand or anything. He hasn’t. Yet somehow it’s almost las if he _has_.

 

That, amongst other things, has Patrick’s mood souring by the time they’ve finished dinner at a fine Southern restaurant where the Verdien host makes sure they have the best table near the garden window because of Patrick and not Pete. Patrick should be happy that he’s the one the host decides to garner favor with because of a shared birth home, but instead it just aggravates him _more_.

 

It’s not like he wants to impress Pete. He doesn’t have to. Even if Pete totally pats his thigh under the table, when the host turns away, to tell him how awesome he is. 

 

So, of course, when they get to the hotel they’re supposed to be staying in, there’s only one bed. Glitches of all glitches, it’s not even that they didn’t already expect this, however, Patrick can’t seem to not let all of this get under his skin. They’ll be sleeping in the same bed, so what? They’ve crashed together before.

 

Pete’s gone from trying to ask what’s wrong to poking at Patrick’s mood until he smiles. Needless to say, Pete officially gave up around dessert.

 

“We should sleep. In the morning, we can get this over with and go back _home_.”

 

Patrick shrugs and changes into sleep clothes. “Make sure the alarm’s set for early. Wildermin might want to see us.”

 

Which is exactly what happens the next morning. Pete’s already dressed when Patrick wakes up to the alarm blaring. There’s a pretty good chance that he didn’t sleep and Patrick can’t figure out why. They have gone under cover before. Patrick’s been twitchy before. And he’s even gone stony enough times that Pete rarely takes to being affronted.

 

“We could decline making a couple-y appearance. Just hang around doing touristy things before the party.”

 

Patrick stops adjusting his shirt collar to look sharply at Pete. Pete never uses that defeated tone this early in the morning. 

 

“We have a job to do. I’ve never known a day where you’d try to get out of play-acting _and_ snooping.”

 

Pete rolls a shoulder. “First time for everything, Trick.”

 

Patrick looks up at the ceiling before pulling on his shoes. “Come on, Nate will hack the lock code if we take any longer.” He doesn’t even think about what he’s doing when he takes Pete’s hand.

 

There’s supposed to be a happy couple. So that’s what they’ll be.

 

The meeting with Octavia Wildermin is short. She’s a busy woman. She’s also not their suspect.

 

Patrick turns to Pete the moment they’re in the back of Nate’s car. “She’s not a Beauty Queen.”

 

Pete nods. “She’s a White Queen.”

 

Patrick blinks and sags against the seat. “They’re only myth. Something we’re told about to remind us that good still exists. She’s committed to bettering her employees and creating ties with other organizations that can help her accomplish those feats.”

 

Pete pats Patrick’s knee. “She didn’t seem like a myth, Patrick. I think it was a wise choice having you around. She liked how knowledgeable you were.”

 

Olivia Wildermin listened to both of them. She watched how they interacted and smiled when Pete kissed Patrick on the cheek for remembering all the facts they learned Monday evening.

 

“This means we’re either looking at out-dated intel or someone’s looking to set her up. White Queen or not, if she’s outed as an anomaly ...” 

 

“They’ll strip her of company control.”

 

It would be a major blow to Ox Industries if a known F. T. ran the show.

 

Pete sighs and rests his head against Patrick’s shoulder. “This means we’re missing the party to dig for the truth, doesn’t it?”

 

Patrick finds himself laughing. He pets Pete’s hair. “I know how much you enjoy shiny things. But I don’t think we’ll find anything if we trail a White Queen around while she’s mingling with foreign _Princes_ for business connections.”

 

Hours later, wandering through unkempt access tunnels under Nuevera’s first shell, Patrick has to concede that he’d much rather be at a party than covered in lubricating grease after following a hunch Nate had about the plant manager at the facility they toured yesterday. However, the space is ideal for anyone who might decide to hide some. Like say a Dragon or Beauty Collector stealing away youths of value.

 

All major buildings have access to the first shell layer under Nuevera’s surface. It’s a failsafe to ensure that all foundations are secured. It’s also a way for the Internal Government to have limitless entry points to the center of the station if they need to run critical maintenance. Patrick’s never been past the first layer. He’s never had to. He’s not one of the mad geniuses that the I G employees to keep their man-made metal sphere from failing.

 

“I have a theory.” Pete bends down and runs his fingers through a patch of grease. “You know that squirly foreman who whispered something about glass princesses during our tour?”

 

Patrick flicks his wrist light down the tunnel to get a better view of the terrain. “Yeah. You think he’s an anomaly or working with one?”

 

Pete wipes his fingers on his pants as if they’re not expensive. “What if we’re dealing with Seven Miners? What if the whole facility is maxing out oxygen production-”

 

Patrick pauses to shine his wrist light at Pete’s feet. “Because they’re kidnapping healthy teenagers to boost their numbers. The reveal of a White Queen in a top position would erase all inquiries into the missing persons reports.”

 

Pete cuts his own wrist light off and lowers his voice. “The Miners could continue their operation with the bodies they already have and the public would just assume Olivia Wildermin is another Red Queen bathing in youth.”

 

Patrick follows Pete’s lead. “We need to find where those kids are, Pete.” 

 

The tunnels are quiet. Patrick informs Nate of their new theory and receives a message back on his glasses display that Nate’s going to hack a few employee files for supporting evidence on their suspected Miners.

 

“Hey, Patrick, did Wildermin seem too knowledgeable and understanding when we fumbled through that charade earlier? I mean, I know you didn’t want to be my date but I think we did well, but she seemed to be pretending we were Golden Princes, not just looking into an investment for Helix.”

 

Patrick hadn’t really thought about it. He was more interesting in sussing out whether Wildermin could have abducted anyone for nefarious purposes to actually wonder about exactly how comfortable with them as she had been. Now that Pete mentions it, it’s almost as if she knew what to expect.

 

“You think she knew we were coming. That she _knew_ about the Miners and their plot to frame her for their misdeeds. It makes sense. I guess. But then it wouldn’t matter who was sent. I don’t see your point.”

 

Pete doesn’t reply. Instead they keep walking while Patrick muses. Suddenly, there’s the sound of ventilation, the uncanny scrape of filters kicking on and off. A few steps later, there’s a door. Pete cracks the key code before Patrick can. Once inside, there’s a whole host of long, rectangular squares. All of them are full, thirty-five teenagers, comatose and being farmed for carbon and oxygen that can be filtered and reused.

 

Patrick calls it in. Three Southern specialists show up with a whole host of medical crew and half of the police force. Patrick and Pete are asked questions before being released. 

 

When they get to the surface, Nate’s talking to an officer. Highlighting employee files to check into. He pulls away when he sees Pete and Patrick walk up. 

 

“Your parents are going to really proud of how quickly you two solved this.”

 

Pete just nods and heads to their transport. Patrick sighs and watches Nate’s face fall before he composes himself and goes to the driver’s door. 

 

Patrick takes a moment to wipe his hands on his thighs. He hasn’t decided if he’s angry over Pete’s family meddling or not. First, he needs to check on Pete.

 

“I know you didn’t want this and I _swear_ I didn’t know they’d stoop to matchmaking through case-related shit. I _maybe_ mentioned a few times how hard it was trying to decide if I should ask you out or if you’d punch me for being forward and ask for a different partner. But I didn’t think they’d _do_ anything.”

 

Patrick hasn’t even shut the car’s door and Pete’s already apologizing. That’s a new record. 

 

“Pete, I’m not mad.” 

 

Patrick never admits to doing stupid things. It’s enough to shut Pete up for a millisecond. 

 

“I don’t-”

 

Patrick doesn’t let Pete glitch into another ramble. 

 

The kiss isn’t full of finesse but Pete does kiss back. It’s more than Patrick’s ever expected. 

 

When they pull apart, Pete’s fingers are twined in Patrick’s dirty shirt. “Just so we’re clear, you’re okay with this, even though my parents set this up?”

 

Patrick drags Pete into a second kiss. 

 

“As long as you’re fucking serious about this.”

 

Pete’s eyes widen like he can’t fathom a world where he’s not deathly serious about them.

 

“Of course, Trick. Always. You think I ask everyone I know up to the North Dock?”

 

Patrick doesn’t say anything because, well, not exactly, but he had assumed Pete would have taken a few of his past dates.

 

Pete tugs on Patrick’s hair. Patrick smacks the side of Pete’s shoulder. He knows not to do that shit.

 

“Only you, Patrick. Just didn’t think you cared.”

 

_Fuck._

 

“I’m an idiot.”

 

Pete’s eyebrows crinkle in confusion. Patrick drags him into another kiss, this one slower.

 

“Ask me again.”

 

Patrick doesn’t know if it’ll work or not, but he’s willing to try.

 

Pete sits back enough to laugh without knocking his nose into Patrick’s glasses. “Patrick Stump, shiniest person I have ever met, other half of my soul, would you join me at the North Deck when we get back home?”

 

Patrick can’t help but answer Pete’s laugh with one of his own. “You’re ridiculous. And only if you promise to keep the PDA’s to something G-rated.”

 

Pete frowns. “Where’s the fun in that?” Then he knocks on the back window of the grav car. “Stop being a creeper, Nate. I’m sure you already have plenty to report back to my parents with when we get home.”

 

Patrick doesn’t tune in to what Nate says in reply. He just decides to enjoy the feel of Pete plastered against his side, trying his damnedest to crawl into Patrick. It's a good feeling. Comfortable. Like home.


End file.
